


The Re-education of Lucius Malfoy

by ishafel



Series: From Great Moments in Death Eater History, Vol. I, 1970-81 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius learns a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Re-education of Lucius Malfoy

The parties Bellatrix Black Lestrange threw at her tiny flat in Hexham Street were legendary, even during the early days of the war, when no extravagance was too much because they were going to win or die. She had a transfigured marble bath filled with pink champagne, dancing girls in every shape and shade, bewitched and handsome Muggle boys with guitars and drums. The Death Eaters came to her parties in force (invitations were much prized among non- Death Eaters, particularly spies for the Order, who regarded them as a plush, if dangerous, assignment). Indeed, even Tom Marvolo Riddle, in his incarnation as Lord Voldemort, made an occasional appearance.

In all of England, there was only one man who did not enjoy Bellatrix's parties, one man who actively sought assignment elsewhere on those nights. Lucius Malfoy disliked anything associated with Bellatrix, and despised the woman herself. Despite their famous name and undisputed fortune, he had found the Black family unpleasant and unwelcoming, and Bellatrix unquestionably the worst of the lot. She would not have found any man her sister's equal, and certainly no Malfoy.

Lucius had often wondered if Bellatrix was not a trifle over fond of her own sex, if those heavy-lidded eyes did not warm at the sight of white breasts and pink lips. He found the thought both repellant and exciting. That was the trouble with Bellatrix; no matter how much you disliked her you still found her eminently fuckable. That was why Lucius stayed well clear of her, and of the dissipation that seemed to hang about her like a cloud.

Only, his wife loved her sister. What could he say to Narcissa that would make her understand what a dissolute thing Bellatrix was? What words were fierce enough to encompass such a sin? For surely there could be nothing worse than the things that Bellatrix did in secret, the things that the Dark Lord did not see, that Rudolphus gave tacit consent to. Narcissa would not believe until she saw those things for herself.

Lucius wanted her pure. Wanted her pregnant with his child, waiting warm in his bed when he came in late and cold and hungry from a long day of shedding other men's blood. Wanted her unmarked, untouched by other men's hands, by the taint that ran in the blood of the Blacks-the taint of everything Bellatrix stood for. He could only keep her pure by despoiling her, by letting her see what her sister was. And so, reluctantly, he allowed her to go to the parties her sister gave. Waited, and hoped she would see the truth.

Lucius would have been most unhappy, had he seen what it was Narcissa did at the parties he was so loathe to attend. Narcissa never dressed before he left; he would have objected most strongly to the silver sequined dress, shorter than her silver hair, that Bellatrix so adored on her. He would not have liked the silver basilisk skin boots that came up to her knees, or the kohl she used around her eyes. He might have wanted to fuck the mouth she painted Gryffindor crimson, but he would not have approved.

And he would not have approved of the sparkling, piquant creature she became, in the presence of her sister and the other Death Eaters. He would not have liked the admiring glances men gave her, or the way she sometimes smiled, slow and sure, in response. He would have blamed Bellatrix for the habit she had of leaning close, for the breathy little laugh that seemed designed to arouse a man.

The truth was that Bellatrix for all her dissipation was constant as the North Star; she never strayed far from the pledges made to her lord and her husband. And she did not have Narcissa's gift for telling men what they wanted to hear. She would not have stayed so long by Lucius Malfoy's side, playing the perfect little wife. Bellatrix had never been much good at hiding her nature.

Narcissa was as ambitious as Bellatrix, and as ruthless. Only, she was better at hiding it. And so she wore long dark robes in her husband's company, and coiled her hair at the base of her neck. She did not drink anything but wine; she certainly did not drink the green cocktails called Killing Curses that Bellatrix served at her parties, and she did not smoke the imported brown cigarettes that stained her sister's fingers yellow. At least, she did not do these things when her husband was present. Lucius Malfoy was as handsome as he was bigoted, as pureblooded as a Gaunt and far richer. He was worth a little inconvenience.

She always saw him off on his endless and petty little raids before she began to dress. Lucius did not know the art that made her eyes bigger and brighter, her mouth fuller, her hair into a silver banner that streamed behind her. He made love to her at night, in the dark, behind locked doors, and so he did not see that her body was made for a man's hands, even a woman's hands; he did not see that she was meant to be touched, sullied, marked by rough impatient fingers and magical brands. She lay quiet beneath him, the way a lady should; she did not laugh or talk or kiss him or bite his ear as Bellatrix did to Rudolphus.

Lucius did not go to Hexham Street and so he did not see the things Narcissa did with his colleagues and his master and sometimes his enemies. He did not know that though she had not been on a horse since she was a small girl, she kept her riding crop tucked under her arm while she talked. He did not know that she had lain beneath the Dark Lord on the werewolf rug before the fire in his study, when he himself had been assigned to guard duty in the rain. He did not know that she had had her cousin Regulus and Brian Goyle together, one night when they had all rather over-indulged. Or that she had had Crabbe and Mrs. Crabbe separately, and ruined their marriage in the process.

He did not know that she and Bellatrix both had grown tired of the way he spoke to them as if they were somehow members of an inferior species, incapable of reason. He did not know that she planned to teach him respect, and he would not have believed it if he had been told. He was as innocent as his wife was debauched, and ripe for mastery.

A wiser man, one less convinced of his wife's goodness, would not have drunk from the cup Narcissa offered. Lucius drank it to the dregs. And woke, to find himself bound and gagged, his back against the cool stone walls of his own dungeon. On the floor before him lay Bellatrix, and beneath her, quite still-Narcissa. Despite the cold both of them were entirely unclothed. Lucius thought for a heart stopping moment they were dead. But the still air of the dungeon was heavy with the scent of sex, and between Narcissa's thighs, Bellatrix's fingers still moved absently.

He should have been horrified; it very much went against his notions of feminity, of morality. But Lucius found the tableau strangely arousing. The two women were beautiful, beautifully matched: their carelessness was itself a kind of innocence. Ordinary rules did not apply in this Eden. Even as he watched, Narcissa untangled herself from Bellatrix and sat up, slowly and languidly shaking her pale hair away from her face.

Lucius had never before seen her entirely naked. Seeing her in such a position-and with her own sister-should have appalled him. Yet he found he could not look away. Narcissa met his eyes over Bellatrix's shoulder and then leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow of her sister's throat. It was exactly the sort of raw sexuality he had meant to protect her from, and he was only just realizing how wrong he had been. Wrong about Narcissa, and wrong, too, about passion.

Bellatrix moaned as her sister's tongue traced arcane patterns across the swells of her heavy breasts, down the length of her white belly to the nest of dark curls. Lucius shuddered watching them, not because he was horrified but because he was so very aroused and had no way to satisfy himself. He had never imagined he could feel so about his wife or about sex. He had never dreamed he could feel so about Bellatrix.


End file.
